Page 8

Chapter Eight

I’m one of those weird students who loves school. I know it’s strange for me to love it so much, but how can I not? It gets me out of my house and provides examples of somewhat normal adults. Miss Hess, my Lit and Comp teacher, is one of the more normal ones. Another reason L&C is one of my favorite classes is because Bek is in it with me.

I’m picking up the papers that scattered across the floor when I dropped my folder when Bek flits into the room and places a paper cup full of wildflowers on Miss Hess’s desk.

“Bek, how thoughtful,” Miss Hess gushes. “Where did you find flowers this early in the season?”

“My mom has a greenhouse. She owns Becca’s Bloom Bomb downtown.”

Miss Hess gapes. “How did I not know that? I love that store.”

“Yes. Most people do.” Bek floats to the desk next to me and settles like a fallen leaf onto it.

“That was sweet of you.” I frown. Suddenly the use of the word sweet reminds me of Dylan.

“Yes. I don’t know why I haven’t been doing it all year. Miss Hess is great, and having her for first period makes it that much easier.” Bek and I fish our homework out and pass it forward when instructed. “How was the shelter yesterday?”

“Busy. Olive Oyl and Sweet Pea were both adopted yesterday.” Bek likes to visit the shelter frequently to pet the animals, so she knows many of them by name.

“Oh, Ava.” Bek looks directly at me, something she rarely does. “It must have been hard for you to say goodbye to Olive.”

Tears prickle again, making me feel like a baby. But I’m determined not to let them show. I blink them away as I tell Bek about the adorable family who adopted her.

“And what was the family like who adopted Sweet Pea?” Bek asks.

“I don’t know. Dylan handled that one.” I can’t quite keep the irritation I feel whenever I think of him out of my voice. But it goes over Bek’s head.

“I told you he was sweet.” She isn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, she’s doodling a dog made of flowers on her notebook while she listens. I’m used to it.

“Bek, I made him handle the meet and greet for Sweet Pea. It has nothing to do with him caring one iota about those animals.”

As soon as I say it, I regret it. He might be a cocky jerk, but he is good with the animals, especially the dogs and the iguana the shelter recently took in. He is far more comfortable than when he first got to the shelter Saturday morning.

“Anyway,” I continue. “He thinks you’re sweet too. He told me so yesterday. After he accused me of trying to cop of feel with Rex.”

Bek’s airy laugh lifts around her. “He’s funny too.”

I slouch into my chair. “I give up.”

“You just need to change your perspective,” Bek says .

“Drop it, please, Bek. I don’t want this to ruin a good friendship.”

Bek laughs again. “You’re funny too. See, he’s already having a positive effect on you.”

I bury my face in my hands and leave them there until Miss Hess calls our attention to her.

After Lit and Comp, I’m on my way to Biology II when I see Dylan coming toward me. I squint, wondering if we’ve always passed in the hall between classes and I just never noticed before. He’s walking with the same girl he was with on Saturday night. His attention is focused completely on her as she talks, and he seems to dodge other kids instinctively to avoid hitting them. The girl uses her hands in sweeping gestures, and her face is red with what I think might be anger.

Maybe this is an alternative route for him because of the girl.

At the last moment, just before he passes by, Dylan’s eyes flick up and meet mine. It's so sudden and surprising, I startle and trip. I get my balance and glance back at Dylan, who watches me over his shoulder with that darned smirk on his face.

I’m distracted when I walk into Bio, and run right into someone, stepping on their foot. They suck in a breath, and I look up to apologize.

Rex Diller.

Of course.

I close my eyes for a moment, to stop myself from laughing like a hysterical person. When I open them, his gaze scans me and himself.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“Just making sure you weren’t carrying any tea.” Rex raises an eyebrow. “My toe might be a little flatter, too.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble again, as I step around him to get to my seat.

Kill. Me. Now.

I hate myself for it, but as class gets underway, I wonder who the girl is to Dylan and if they’re dating. I mentally scold myself. Why do I even care? And yet, my next thought is to contemplate the fact that the girl doesn’t have a reputation for being rough like Dylan does. The pairing makes little sense but seeing him so focused on her in the hall was surprising. Especially since the girl seemed upset about something. He strikes me as the type of boyfriend who wouldn’t want to get caught up in his girlfriend’s drama.

I drop my chin into my hand and roll my eyes at my own thoughts. Listen to me being an expert on Dylan Scott, or boyfriends for that matter. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. How would I know what it’s like?

During the next passing period, I catch myself looking for Dylan’s floppy brown hair and deep brown eyes in the sea of faces. Maybe I always pass him and just never realized it before. When I make it all the way to my next class without seeing him, I’m disappointed. Then I’m disappointed for being disappointed. Dylan Scott is messing with my shelter sanctuary and my mind.

What is wrong with me? I think, as I turn into the classroom. But regardless of how many times I mentally chew myself out for thinking of him, he remains at the front of my mind. By lunch period, I’ve changed tactics, assuring myself I’m simply curious because I’ve encountered him so unexpectedly. He has a questionable reputation, supposedly doing things I would never do, and it piques my interest. A lot. It's normal and I shouldn’t punish myself for wondering about him. It’s nothing more than simple curiosity. It’s not like I want to date the guy or anything!

Exhausted from battling my whirlwind of thoughts all day, I flop into a seat next to Sam, not at all convinced that my new line of thinking is going to help me move on from Dylan Scott.

“Hey, you seem distracted,” Sam says. “Everything okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, totally!”

I twist the top off a flavored, carbonated water and the contents erupt out of the bottle. I try to jam the top back on, which makes the sticky water spray sideways and drench me. Sam jumps out of her seat, avoiding the spray.

“Did you not hear that fizz?” Sam asks incredulously. “Oh, Ava. You’re soaked!”

I look down at my lunch, which is also drenched and ruined.

“Oh no,” Bek says by way of greeting. “What happened?”

“Ava sprayed herself with flavored water again,” Sam says.

I lift my shirt away from my skin, surprised there isn’t steam lifting from me, I’m so hot with embarrassment. I really need to stop bringing those waters to school.

“Oh, but you always have a change of clothes in your locker, right?” Bek says with a satisfied smile, knowing everything will be alright.

I groan. “I forgot to replace the clothes I ruined last week. Maybe the office has a shirt I can wear in lost and found or something.” But I remember Mrs. Jensen telling me my own stained shirt was the last of the shirts in the pile. Fingers crossed someone left something lying around in the extremely short time since my mud incident.

“I’ll clean this up,” Sam says. “You go take care of that.”

I offer a pathetic smile of thanks as I step carefully away from the table, angling myself so my shirt won’t drip on my pants too badly. I see people laughing at me as I leave the cafeteria, but I’m used to it. I can’t blame them. The first time I did it, people felt bad for me, but I’ve done it so many times now people almost expect it. They probably have a betting pool for what day of the week I’ll wipe out my clothes .

Once I’m in the hallway, I pull the clammy shirt away from my skin as far as I can. I’m not looking forward to the variety of pitiful looks the office ladies will give me.

“That was spectacular.” Dylan jogs up next to me.

I scowl. What is he doing here? He’s never at lunch, is he? “I don’t need you to rub it in. Please go away.”

He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his front pockets. “I was going to offer you a shirt, but if you already have something…”

He spins around and starts to walk back to the cafeteria.

“Wait!” I call after him. I slam my eyes closed so I don’t have to see his smirk. When I don’t hear anything, I peek through my lashes.

He’s slowly turning around, his eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

It’s so hard asking Dylan for help. “You have a shirt I could borrow?”

“I do.”

I squint at him. “You’re not going to make me sacrifice my firstborn or anything, are you?”

He cocks his head, and his long bangs fall in front of his eyes. Why would that make my stomach flip? “Why would I do that?” he asks. “Do you believe those rumors that I practice Satanism?”

I startle, the shirt slipping out of my hands. The cold, sticky material slaps against my stomach, making me suck in a surprised breath and lean forward.

Dylan chuckles.

“I haven’t even heard that rumor. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to make me earn the shirt or something.”

The smile falls from his face, and his shoulders slump. “No, Ava. I actually just felt bad that the shirt you’re wearing is wet. I remember Mrs. Jensen telling you they had no more shirts in lost and found. So, I’m offering another for you to wear to get through the day.”

Guilt washes through me for making him feel bad. I offer a lame excuse. “A girl has to watch out for herself, you know.”

Dylan gestures for me to walk with him and when we fall into step together, he says, “That’s actually true and admirable. I know someone who is going through something right now because she didn’t clarify the terms before striking a deal. So, I applaud you for making sure I don’t have an ulterior motive. Even if I wish you could have just trusted me.”

I frown.

“What?”

“I’ve only known you for two days. How would I trust you already?”

Dylan stops in front of the boys’ locker room. “Has it really only been two days?”

“I guess today is the third day?” I arch a brow.

“Man, how weird.” Dylan cocks his head again and his bangs sweep to the side. He has great hair. “It feels like I’ve known you forever, Ava.”

“Is that good or bad?” I squint at him, unable to determine how he feels.

“It’s just weird.” He arches his thumb over his shoulder to the locker room door. “I’ll be right back. The shirt is in here.”

“It’s clean though, right?” I wrinkle my nose imaging a balled-up, wrinkled shirt with dried sweat on it.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Ava.”

“Ew.”

“I’m kidding! It’s clean.” Dylan holds a hand up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Glancing down at the sopping shirt I still hold away from my skin, I snort. “Okay.”

Chuckling, Dylan disappears through the door. A couple of minutes later, he reappears and hands me a folded shirt. I take it gingerly, not wanting to transfer any of the stickiness from my shirt or hands onto his clean shirt.

“Thanks. I’ll just…” I bob my head toward the girl’s locker room and when Dylan nods, I walk backward. “I’ll give it back Saturday? Or should I bring it tomorrow?”

“Either way.” Dylan smiles and squints at me as I tug the door open and back through it.

“I’ll wash it!” I shout, just as the door swings closed. I think I hear him laugh and wonder why that would make me flush with heat. Maybe it’s because I’m wearing a soaking wet shirt.

When I realize I have a grin on my face, it immediately shifts into a scowl. That was not some meet-cute moment or anything! He’s just being nice. Why? Who knows? How did he know I needed a shirt anyway? Had he been right there when the whole thing happened? I bury my face in his shirt and groan. Then I sniff it. It smells like him. Pine with a touch of leather. I draw the scent deep into my olfactory senses.

Wait! How do I know what he smells like? This is only the third day I’ve officially known him. What is going on?

Tossing his shirt onto the bench seat, I whip my wet shirt off. My skin is tacky from the flavored water, so I go over to the sink to wash off the stickiness. Luckily, my bra is fine. I drench my sticky shirt under the water faucet before wringing it out. I rinse it two more times, hoping to get all the sugar out of it so it won’t dry funny. Then I wring it as dry as I can and hang it over the side of the sink.

With a wad of dry, scratchy paper towels, I wipe off my stomach and pat myself dry. I run a hand over my skin to make sure I didn’t miss any sticky areas. Finally, it feels safe to pull Dylan’s shirt on. It’s big on me, which makes me feel unusually girly for some reason. It’s a simple light blue t-shirt. Short sleeves, crew neck. Something I would never wear, but when I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I smile. There’s something exciting about wearing his shirt. What is it? Upon further inspection, I grimace. This shirt looks silly as I drown in it.

First, I try to knot it like I’ve seen girls on Instagram do. But I can’t figure out how to make a knot without a length of shirt sticking straight out. Next, I tuck the shirt in, but it’s far too bulky inside my pants. Finally, I tuck only the front in and let the rest hang out. For some reason, that looks better. It actually looks like I’m wearing my boyfriend’s t-shirt. I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering who I’ll be when I really am in a place to wear my boyfriend’s shirt. And why would a girl need to wear her boyfriend’s…oh! My cheeks flame at the thought of pulling on Dylan’s shirt…the next morning! I can’t even look at myself anymore. I hustle away from the mirror, suddenly unable to separate the image of wearing Dylan’s shirt from the reason I might need to wear Dylan’s shirt. It feels so intimate to be steeped in his pine scent.

Grabbing my wet shirt from the sink, I scurry out of the locker room and dash to my locker to store my t-shirt inside.